Page 30 of Come Out, Come Out

That’ll show him.

Aiden

March 10th– 2021 – Two Weeks Later

I made a mistake when I’d thought Skye’s anger would blow over and she’d see my side of things—a side I didn’t get the chance to explain but had hoped she’d see. It’s been weeks now and she’s still ignoring me. Her initial pettiness was understandable, but the anger that she still holds for me is shocking. It is like a physical force pushing me away from her. I intended to respect her boundaries, but it is also almost like I don’t have much of a choice. When I step too close to her, I can feel the air around her protest. A sensation that appears to be unpleasant for both of us if the visible tension in Skye’s body is any indicator.

I don’t regret what I did, but maybe I would have gone about it differently if I had known the cost of my actions. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that. I’m annoyed with myself for once again being reactionary to seeing her harm herself. In that moment, I’d been so taken aback that she’d turned back to her coping mechanisms when things had been going so well. It was arrogant of me to think that my company would be enough.

It wasn’t fair of me to even expect that, and yet . . .

I’m torn between feeling like I’ve completely fucked things up and justified in my actions. I just want what’s best for her. I just want to take care of her. But I can admit that wasn’t the right way to go about it. I don’t know how to fix things. If only I could talk to her face-to-face, really talk, not what we’ve been doing. But even if I could, would it really help anything? Would she even find me worth listening to at this point?

It’s easy to forget the disparity between what I feel for her and what she might feel for me. I’m trying to keep my expectations of her low. I’m trying to be patient, but it’s so goddamn hard.

I’ve never been more confused by a relationship dynamic in my life. I’m in the worst possible position. Not quite friend, not quite fuck buddy, definitely not a boyfriend—as Skye so kindly reminded me. I mean, I get it, I’m a ghost for fuck’s sake. Skye has been surprisingly open-minded about me, but I don’t think even she would be up for that. I might be a selfish bastard for even getting involved with her as much as I have, but I would never ask her to make that kind of compromise for me. What kind of life would that be for her? I’m no longer the man I used to be—a son, a brother, or a friend. She is everything to me and I’m just a small piece of the tapestry of her life. I know this in the most rational part of my mind, but the longer I’m dead and the longer the greatest temptation of my life is dangled in front of me, the quieter it becomes.

For better or worse, I’m no longer defined by the limitations of a human life. I’m not in denial of what I am, but accepting that I’m dead, that I can’t offer her the depth of a human life, that is something I conveniently avoid thinking about. Referring to myself as a ghost feels so much less . . . final. And being around Skye makes it so easy to forget that I’m not reallyhere. I’m not reallywithher. That truth sinks in my gut like an anchor that drags me back to the day I realized I was here, all alone. The day I realized that I was dead.

I look at my reflection—the one that only I can see—in the mirror and it strikes me how much things have changed. Two years ago, I was standing in this very bathroom jacking Nate off with a hand around his gasping throat, showing him who dominated who after all those years of taunting and unfair power dynamics. Arousal, disgust, anger, and grief whip through me in quick succession. Now we were both dead.And my sister, my subconscious brutally reminds me. What would she think if she could see me now?

She would be horrified at the way I’ve unraveled. I may have been a bit rebellious growing up, but I’d always been calm and collected. I don’t know where that Aiden went. I haven’t seen him since I got in my old car and drove to this house. I never realized how delicate that balance was. I wish I could get ahold of the threads of fate just to see what moment sealed my damnation. Was it the decision to get revenge for Becca? Had it been the relief I felt when Nate took his last breath? I’ll never know. The only answer I have is the fucked-up reality of my sentence—I’m in love with a woman who wants to die and I’m desperately trying to keep her alive.

I know I’ve fucked up, I don’t know how to do this, but I know I can make her happy. I tried to respect her boundaries, but this is too much distance, and for too long. I need to convince her to give me another chance. The more time and space I allow her to put between us, the more likely it is that I’ll never get her back. That isn’t a possibility I’m willing to entertain.

I try to get her attention while she cooks herself dinner, opening and closing the cabinets while she cooks. Instead of acknowledging me, she grabs her headphones and puts them on. It’s infuriating. I’m tired of the cold shoulder treatment. When she goes back up to her room and turns on the shower, I rush in there and writeI’m sorryin the barely formed layer of steam on the mirror. I don’t regret pouring out the poison she uses to numb herself, but I do regret how deeply I’ve upset her.

She stops, her face screwing up into a twisted grimace of hurt and anger. “It doesn’t matter; I can’t do this anymore. I’ve been living in some twisted fucking fairytale.” Skye sucks in a ragged breath. “I don’t understand how I got so swept up in this, but it’s wrong.”

Skye, please.I write back because there’s no way for me to communicate what I really want to say to her. Helplessness keeps me silent.

“This has been fun, but I can’t let myself get wrapped up in you. You don’t even respect my choices. You aren’t who I wanted you to be.” Her voice wobbles as tears gather in her lashes.

I’m watching her as she builds back up all the walls around her, sealing herself off from me brick by brick. The defiance in her eyes stems from her own self-loathing and I know that if I don’t do something right now, I’m going to lose her forever. Skye isn’t the kind of woman who gives people chance after chance to keep disappointing her. Pride swells within me before my own panic drowns it.

Before I register the decision, my finger is scribbling across the mirror.It’s me, Aiden.There’s no going back now.

Her big, brown eyes scan from left to right several times before understanding dawns on her. My own travel to the tips of her fingers that have begun to shake, I trace the trail of goosebumps that break out over her soft skin, and finally meet her gaze. Despite the aching silence between us, she’s saying so much. I find disbelief, fear, and betrayal staring back at me. It’s as if I can see her trying to put together the puzzle pieces that don’t fit quite right. This is why I wanted to tell her in person.

I lean forward to write something else but she lashes out, disrupting the smooth, frosted surface and eliminating any space I would have had to continue this conversation. Sweat coats her brow and her chest lifts up and down frantically as she processes the perceived deceit.

“I want,” she grits out hesitantly as tears begin to trail down her cheeks, “you to leave me alone. You’re not welcome in this space anymore. I want you to stay away from me.”

She may as well have slapped me. I resist the urge to swipe everything off the countertop in protest. The last thing I want is for her to be terrified of me, but I feel absolutely powerless. That chasm she’d formed between us is growing by the second and I’m scrambling for a way to pull us back together.

She works her jaw as she stares into the mirror. “You’re not welcome here. This is a safe space. You’re not welcome in this room anymore, I’m reclaiming this space.” She repeats similar phrases over and over again and I feel the power of them. Tension brackets through my body and I’m pulled back by some force far greater than me. It tugs me from my core, leaving me helpless to resist. No matter how hard I fight, the space between us grows until I’m on the other side of her bedroom doorway. As soon as I’m capable of movement, I try to take a step forward, but I find myself blocked by an invisible wall. I push, I ram, I kick and beat my fists, but still, I can’t go in. I watch helplessly as she shuts her bathroom door, cutting me off from her entirely. Panic seizes me as I pace just outside the barrier she’s manifested into existence. A sick feeling washes over me as my thoughts scramble. I want her to feel safe although having me out of the picture is not the way.

“Skye,” I whisper uselessly. “I was just trying to protect you. Can’t you see that I’m here for you? I just want to take care of you.” I sink to my knees, the fight fading out of me as the conviction of her words washes over me. There’s no doubting just how badly she wanted to be rid of me at that moment. It’s tangible. I slam my fist against the door once more, and her gasp is another stab to my chest. “I just don’t want you to end up like her.” The admission that only I can hear is a twist of the knife that Skye’s already embedded within my heart.

It always comes back to Becca. How could it not?

The weight of the loss of my sister and now Skye anchors me to the floor. Is that all I’ll have left of them now; my memories, my grief?

Skye

March 10th, 2021 – The Same Day

I close the bathroom door and slide down the smooth surface until my thighs touch the tile. The contact sends me over the edge and the tears I’ve been holding back break through the dam. I don’t know what I’m feeling, it’s all too much. I catch fleeting wisps of what I think is anger, followed by embarrassment, rounded out by fear. I don’t know what conclusion is more terrifying: that I’ve been fucking a ghost or that he’s lying and just using Aiden to manipulate me. How can you tell if a spirit is lying to you? There’s no way you can. It’s been months since I’ve seen Aiden, and maybe I won’t ever again.

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